Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

“Don't worry about it,” Amy muttered, her voice flat. “After all, you made money with each tick of the clock.”

“Gee, I guess that's right, Mrs. Brady. Did you have a nice bridge game?”

Amy looked at me for a long time before swinging her eyes back to the perky blonde. “Lovely, but it's time my husband took you home.”

She shook her head. “I don't mind walking. It's only a couple of blocks away.”

Amy was firm. “It's also after midnight and we're responsible for seeing that you get back to your aunt's place safely. All right, Donald.” She always called me Donald instead of Don when she was trying to impress somebody or when she was sore. At that moment she was probably halfway in between.

Trudy and I headed for the door. “I hope I did well enough so you'll ask me to sit again, Mrs. Brady,” the kid was saying over her shoulder as Amy knelt and stroked Alexander's heavy coat. He was trying to get up to follow, but she gripped his collar, keeping his head down.

“You did beautifully, my dear. I hope Alexander behaved himself.”

“He was a dreamboat. Gosh, you wouldn't know he was afraid of the dark, he's so big and strong.”

Amy snorted. “You'll someday discover men are like Alexander in that respect, Trudy. Good night.”

It took less than half a minute to drive to Trudy's Aunt Charlotte's old two-story home and I stopped, letting the engine idle while I dug into my pocket and pulled out some bills. “This ought to cover it.” I murmured, “And there's no deduction for refrigerator raiding. Good night.”

She paused, her hand on the door. “I will be sitting at your house again, won't I, Mr. Brady?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? Alexander might not make it as a permanent member of the household, or he might quit being chicken or my wife and I may never again go out at night. It's really difficult to say, Trudy.”

She got out but leaned back through the window long enough to say, “I think you'll be calling me anyhow.”

“I told you…”

She reached inside the car far enough to grasp at my crotch, catching me right on the head of my penis, which she squeezed.

“Yes,” she whispered, agreeing with herself, “you'll be calling… unless your dong is just naturally half hard like that all the time.”

When she let go I drove home to my wife and Alexander.

As it turned out, Alexander did become a steady member of the household, he remained completely frightened of the dark, and the time came when Amy and I received and accepted another invitation to play bridge with the Champions.

We delayed talking about it until the evening before we were to go out, and she waited until I had to broach the subject of a sitter. I hid behind my newspaper, casting occasional glances toward the television news that Amy was watching and, when a deodorant commercial winked on, I spoke.

“I suppose you've done something about the problem of Alexander for tomorrow night.” My voice sounded strange, like I was asking Dad if I could borrow the car for the very first time.

“Not yet,” she murmured, apparently engrossed in the young woman on the screen who couldn't find a guy to throw the blocks to her because of her underarm problem.

“It's getting late. You know how they're often tied up if you wait until the last minute.”

“I was waiting for you to call her,” Amy replied, still watching as our heroine sprayed a generous dose of Slam-O under each arm.

“Who? Me?”

“You, of course, and Trudy Pipp, that's who.” Her eyes flicked away from the TV drama even as guys came pouring out of the woodwork to carry the sweet-smelling girl to the altar in triumph.

I was sputtering like a firecracker with a damp fuse. “I… I don't understand.”

“It's simple. We need a sitter and Trudy Pipp seems dependable… and available. You got along so well with her the last time it's only logical that you should be the one to convince her to return.”

“I'm getting fed up with your innuendoes,” I sputtered, half rising from my chair. But it had been a tough day at the office and I settled back again. “You're continually suggesting that Trudy-Miss Pipp — and I share some dark secret. You'd think I'd been keeping her behind your back to listen to you.”

“For 'keeping' read 'making out,'“ she retorted.

“You're guessing,” I snapped back. “God, but you're turning into a jealous woman at twenty-five. Maybe I ought to send you back for a new model.”

“Something ten years younger and much more blonde, like our famous baby-sitter?”

“Get somebody else to sit, if you want.” I lighted a cigarette, using two matches as my words blew out the first. “Get a boy, somebody you think is safe from my ravaging sex organs.”

She looked directly into my face, frowning. “Don't you think I've tried? There's no one available. Lord, I even considered taking Alexander along, but Alice wouldn't hear of it. She and her precious Oriental rug in the front room. So it's got to be Trudy or we stay home. You make the call. She won't turn you down.”

I muttered about it for several minutes but at last I believed her. We were in trouble and Trudy was our last hope. Stubbing out my cigarette, I went to the telephone and looked up Charlotte Pipp's number.

It wasn't Trudy who answered, but it was an interesting voice, all the same.

“Mrs. Pipp?” I asked. “This is Don Brady, one of your neighbors.”

“Ah,” the throaty voice replied. “My niece told me all about you… and Mrs. Brady, of course. And, just for the record, I'm Miss Pipp. I took my name back when my last husband walked out on me.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not. However, Trudy's in the tub at the moment.” She laughed as though trying to hide some secret and I pictured that teen-age torpedo of a body clothed in suds and nothing else. My snake began to stir between my legs. “Is there any message?”

“Uh, my wife and I are looking for a sitter for tomorrow night. Do you think…?”

“For that dog Trudy told me about?” She gave a whisky laugh that was right off the barroom floor. “That's the most precious thing I've ever heard. You must let me meet a dog who's afraid of the dark.”

“My pleasure, Mrs.-Miss Pipp.”

“Now, you want to know if Trudy's available. Just a moment, I'll consult through the bathroom door.”

The receiver rattled in my ear as she dropped it on something hard and I waited, humming a little tune of the Forties and drumming my fingers against the door jamb. She was back in a minute.

“Hello, Mr. Brady? She says she can make it but there's a problem. It's her little brother, Buddy. I'm going out tomorrow night, too, and he doesn't want to stay here alone. Would it be all right if he comes along with her? I promise he won't eat much, even though he's shooting up like a weed.”

I thought about the price of groceries, but what the hell. “Of course he can come along. I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience to you, since you're going out.”

“If you saw the fellow I'm going out with, you'd know nothing's an inconvenience if I can spend an evening with him,” she replied, laughing somewhere down in her throat so that what came out was pure merry sex. I had an urge to meet Trudy's Aunt Charlotte. Boy Scout training had taught me to be kind to old ladies and I'm certain we could find a street I could help her across.

“Very well,” I said, very correct in my accountant's voice. “Eight tomorrow night will be fine, and we'll expect two for dinner… er, for sitting.”

She laughed again and I felt like saying something inviting or off-color over the phone, but I didn't want to get into trouble because they say they can trace calls fast these days. “You'll only be paying for one, naturally,” she concluded.